Unspoken Attraction
by moon maiden of time
Summary: -Anastasia, AnyaDimitri- Before their elopement there had been six times Dimitri could recall where he had really wanted to kiss Anya.


1.

Vlad was dancing around, going on and on and on about Sophie. As in the Dowager Empress's first cousin. As in the lady Anya would have to talk to—_lie_ to, really—to see the Empress. Really, all of that was okay with Dimitri because he knew Sophie. But Anya didn't. And that was where the problem lay.

He ran up to Vlad, tried to stop Vlad, and then got swayed, twirled, and dipped right in front of Anya for his efforts.

The blue eyes that looked down at him were amused and magnificent and beautiful. Her mouth was bow-shaped and ripe and begged to be kissed. Then he was pulled up and he stumbled and struggled not to fall.

Anya was angry, blue eyes throwing sparks, and even though he squirmed and wheedled, she stormed off to the bridge, body tense.

When Vlad went up to her to comfort and console, something hot and furious slid into his stomach and refused to go away until he stepped upto Anya and started speaking. The smile on that beautiful mouth disappeared.

Then Vlad started talking again and they moved off the bridge, Vlad and him telling her about Anastasia's past. Her rosebud mouth still begged to be kissed, but he pushed the thought to the side.

The thought fluttered away, however, when she dipped into a curtsey and he snatched up her thin hand to brush a quick kiss over the back of it. He smirked when she threw him a wide-eyed look.

2.

They were dancing. She was soft and warm and fit much too well in his arms. His head spun and his stomach churned. He really wanted to say it was because of the sway of the boat or even the turns of their waltz, but a small part of him figured it was because of the look in her eyes and the enticing lift to her lips. They slowed and then stopped, his hand leaving the warmth of her palm and waist. She was so close. Too close, really. And getting closer. Her eyes fluttered shut and he almost finished leaning in, but he remembered. Remembered this was Anya the Orphan. Remembered that she was supposed to be playing Anastasia the Grand Duchess. Remembered he was in the middle of a _con _in which she was a key part. Regretfully, he pulled back.

3.

She was clutching at his shirt, face upturned, blue eyes wide and teary and frightened. He could feel her muscles under the pajamas, bunched and coiled and tense. She was rambling, going on about some curse, but then she buried her face into his chest. He wanted to pull her back and brush dozens of soft, gentle kisses on her face to ease the fear displayed there. Instead he wrapped his arms around her trembling frame and placed his cheek on her head.

4.

He was going to reunite her with her family. And the he'd be out of the picture. He was doing this for her though. For that shifting shadow behind the blue of her eyes. He was letting go of her. No, he was giving her away for ten million rubles. The urge to tug her close and cover her mouth with his was strong.

_(don't marry kitchen boys)_

She should be able to spare one kiss. Especially for this particular kitchen boy.

_(**princesses**__ don't marry kitchen boys)_

He was being silly. She was the Grand Duchess of Russia. He was a con man and a former kitchen boy. It would never be. He ignored the thought that it was hope that shone in her magnificent blue eyes and they shook hands.

5.

She was stunning. There was a regal tilt to her head and there was something gracefully noble in her stance. There was also betrayal and sadness in her eyes, hiding behind bright anger.

Rage squirmed its way into his heart. For a moment he wanted to grab her and leave bruises that she'd always have so she'd never forget him. He wanted to tug her close and kiss her, kiss her so she'd _feel_ all his anger and sadness and guilt and love. She'd probably push him away and smack him. Again. The rage vanished, leaving shame in its place.

He bowed. He wondered if she knew it'd be the last time she'd see him. He was going back to St. Petersburg, a place that held no warmth for him. And she'd be in beautiful Paris, never remembering him. Her eyes were heart-breakingly blue when he turned to leave.

6.

She was dirty and scratched up and her dress was torn. Even though he was in pain, he was so happy. That man…monster…was gone. She was safe. And there was a curious, almost apologetic look in her eyes. He grabbed her arms and resisted the urge to kiss her. He had to tell her everything. The truth. All of it. First. Then he'd kiss her.

But she was leaning towards him. Her eyes were closing, lashes fluttering gently like dark butterfly wings. Her ripe, begging-to-be-kissed mouth was parted slightly and he leaned forward…

A bark. Pooka sat there, a shimmering crown in his mouth. She took the crown, eyes going soft and contemplative. Then she looked at him and her rosebud mouth curled up in a smile.


End file.
